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Chapter Text

On the day of my eighteenth birthday, my father sat me down, and he told me something I've taken to heart ever since. “A good man,” he told me, “is one who always protects what he has. One who never backs down, and never gives up what's rightfully his without a fight. That's how anyone survives in this bitch of a world.” While I wouldn't normally trust his word, I've seen this firsthand. Spineless pushovers of men get crushed under the heel of those willing to guard what they hold dear, and they're forever doomed to grovel at the bottom, while those who deserve it rise.

The most important thing to guard however, and one thing I've never quite nailed down, is one's own future. As much as I'd like to think I have everything going uphill, I've been on a steady decline since my college years. My control over my life has been slowly, painfully slipping away from me. I've become the target of many evil, cruel men, who wish to take the light of my life away from me without so much as a care. But one in particular… one's name still leaves quite a rotten taste in my mouth.

Gatsby.

Gatsby represented everything wrong with this world, everything that's ever pained humankind in the past, and every awful thing ever yet to come. A stalkerish, cruel beast waiting to sink his dirty teeth into whomever’s life he saw fit to his desires. But his fate came out in my favor in the end… Yes, he got what he most certainly deserved for preying on such a good woman as my wife. It's what he managed to do, the small crack in my life and marriage that he eroded into a great rift… it's his achievements that make me curse his name to this very day.

It all began in the summer of 1922, if I recall correctly, on the day that Nick Carraway was kind enough to accompany my wife Daisy and I for a visit. He was Daisy's cousin… second twice removed, or something of the sort, and I'd known him in college. Although we weren't particularly close, Daisy heard that he'd moved right across the bay from us and insisted that he come over. I'd welcomed him warmly, and I'd shown him around our place, although I glossed over this little wilted garden we had on the side of our house. He didn't seem to mind much- he never minded those things. If only I'd known what a row he'd help Gatsby cause, I'd have pushed him face down into the lake on arrival… But I welcomed him into my home.

I always hated that he chose to live across the bay, in that dirty West Egg. It was full of those New Money fools, criminals who spent their money like it was going out of style and indulged grossly in parties and things of the like. Daisy and I lived in the much nicer East Egg, where those of us who properly inherited our money mostly stayed. Nick never belonged with those New Money types… but there was no convincing him. He'd fallen victim quickly, I'm sure, for he lived right next door to that horrid predator of a man. Gatsby threw parties quite often, and I'd bet a decent amount that Nick attended plenty of them.

Daisy, however, seemed overjoyed that Nick finally lived close by. Daisy was always terribly lonesome- her family all lived a bit farther out, and she only had a small handful of friends. Having Nick there was like a miracle to her poor, attention-starved little mind.

“Nick!” I remember how her eyes lit up as Nick walked into our lounge, shooting up from our white couch. Her strange little friend Jordan was there as well, and she was silent as ever. Jordan was a professional golfer, and she always had this strange energy surrounding her, as if she never had time for anyone or anything. She was quite rude, especially for a woman, and seemingly rejected any place she was given in the world. She clearly didn't want a wife or kids, which always baffled me. But Daisy enjoyed her company, so I never minded keeping her around.

The two of them began having some insignificant little chat, as Daisy tends to do with her friends, but my mind was mostly drawn to the little garden on the side of our home. I began wondering how to fix it up, as I was quite embarrassed when Nick saw it on his way in. I hardly paid attention to the chat.

“How gorgeous! Let's go back to Chicago, Tom! Tomorrow!” Daisy smiled, taking my hand. That's when I was snapped into paying some attention.

I laughed a bit. We'd been floating around restlessly for years, trying to find some sort of happiness in this wretched world. The move to East Egg was intended to be permanent, as it seemed we finally found our little corner of the earth, where we were free of cruel, entitled men. Chicago had its own issues.

Daisy began rambling about the baby, Pammy, while I strolled idly around the grand room. I eventually landed near Nick and put my hand on his shoulder.

“What you doing, Nick?”

“I'm a bond man.” He responded quickly.

“Who with?”

He gave me some random, half-mumbled name I never quite caught. I hadn't heard of them- perhaps that explains why Nick never could afford to come on our side of the bay.

“Never heard of them.”

“You will.” He scoffed, half annoyed, in that self-righteous manner he'd always had. He always had to be right. It was almost sad. “You will if you stay in the East.”

“Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry.” I responded curtly, with a glare at Daisy, as if daring her to pick up her comment about Chicago from earlier. She said nothing. “I'd be a god damn fool to live anywhere else.”

“Exactly!” Jordan chimed in, for no reason if not to make herself known to the room.

The girls began complaining and bantering, as they often do, while I went to grab a cigar from the table. I don't know how, but the subject of that wretched man came up, and Jordan spoke his name for the first time in my home. She cursed us all that night.

“Well, you must know Gatsby.” She remarked.

“Gatsby? What Gatsby?” Daisy perked up. There was something demanding in her voice, as if she desperately needed to know about this stranger. It almost threatened me. So before Nick could open his mouth to say anything, I announced dinner.

We moved in a slow procession out onto the porch, where Daisy promptly complained about the candles and put them out, before then complaining about how she hurt her finger.

“You did it, Tom,” she accused playfully. “I know you didn't mean to, but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great, big, hulking physical specimen of a-” her words were beginning to sting, just a bit, so I cut her off.

“I hate that word… hulking. Even in kidding.”

“Hulking.” She continued to push. She never knew where the line was. I shot her a glare, but she never stood down.

I was going to scold her, but moments later, she'd returned to pointless chatter with Nick and Jordan, as she always did. The little fool she was.

Dinner went on- I remember telling Nick about the new book I'd read, discussing the great concern of our world being overtaken. Yet, he didn't seem to care, and Daisy only mocked the small amount of fear I harbored. As I said, she never knew where the line was.

The only real highlight of the evening was when the telephone rang. I excused myself to answer it, and found some semblance of relief from that damn table.

“Myrtle! How are you?” I greeted. Myrtle was my newest girl- nobody serious, of course, but someone to entertain me in ways Daisy unfairly refused to. She lived in the valley of ashes, the sad little strip of land where all the ashes from the city eventually were dumped. She had a husband, George Wilson… What a fool he was. Almost rivaling Daisy. He was interested in buying a car from me, and he was none the wiser about his wife. He was the spineless type… those men who are pushed to the bottom because they let others freely use their wives and property as they please.

“Just dreadful, Tom. Dreadful. Where have you been these past few days?” Myrtle whined, as she always did. Most women did.

“I've been busy… look, I'll come out and play tomorrow. Does that sound fair?” I offered. I was quite anxious to get back to the table before Daisy questioned things.

“Why are you in such a rush, Tom?”

“Don't you have the decency not to call at dinnertime? I have a guest to get back to.” I scoffed.

“Fine, fine… pay no attention to me. I'll just be lonely until tomorrow.” I could practically see her pout in her voice. Those needy types always annoyed me.

“Goodbye.” I left curtly, hanging up just as Daisy came in.

“Must you always do this?!” She complained, tears in her eyes. “We have a guest, and you're running off to god knows where-”

“Daisy… Daisy.” I rushed to her side, shushing her gently and wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I'm not going anywhere. It was just business.”

“I don't believe you.” She said numbly.

“When do you ever?” I sighed, ushering her back outside. “I promise, all is well.”

There was some idle talk about the stables, I remember, that led to me dragging Jordan down there. Nick and Daisy had gone their own way, and I still wanted to visit my horses. I quite loved them.

“You know, that woman you have in New York is probably the worst one so far.” She remarked.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” I responded curtly, walking a bit ahead of her.

She caught up to me, frowning. “It's an insult to Daisy.”

“Daisy's refusal to even go near me half the time is an insult to me. Men have needs, Jordan. It's not my fault if Daisy can't fulfill them.” I scoffed.

“Have you considered that she had needs too?”

“What more could she want? I've given her everything.” I sighed defeatedly, stopping just short of the stables. “A wonderful life, a huge house, a beautiful daughter…”

“All you haven't given her is a loving husband.” Jordan crossed her arms, strutting off into the stable. “Are we here to look at the horses, or what?”

Chapter Text

It was a crisp afternoon not long after that I invited Nick to come and meet Myrtle with me, purely because the poor woman needed more friends. George always kept her holed up in that nasty gas station all day… It was cruel, and I wasn't above charity work.

I hadn't told Nick why he was coming. I simply invited him to lunch, took the train with him, and dragged him off the train when we reached the valley of ashes. I told him we were going to fetch Myrtle- I figured I could set the poor man up with her sister or something. He needed it.

George greeted us when we arrived, whining about how long one of my men was taking to fix up the car I was intending to sell him. He was always very impatient, especially for the type of man he was… you'd think he'd take the determination he has for complaining and put it to actual good use. But no, there he was, about to let me leave and take his wife to god knows where. Not that he took good care of her in the first place.

Then Myrtle made her usual show of coming down the stairs, in the blue spotted dress I'd bought her on our last outing.

“Get some chairs, why don’t you, so somebody can sit down.” Myrtle demanded of her husband, who hurriedly obeyed. The spineless fool he was.

“I want to see you.” I whispered, pulling her to my side by her waist. “Get on the next train.”

She nodded excitedly without a second glance to her husband. “All right.”

“I'll meet you by the news-stand on the lower level.”

I promptly left with Nick after that, wandering through the barren wasteland that was the valley of ashes. It was all so insignificant, so unsightly… a speck of ash rising from the roaring fire of the city. I glanced up at a faded billboard, a failed advertisement for a long-retired optometrist.

“Terrible place, isn't it,” I remarked.

“Awful.”

I shook my head, thinking of Myrtle. I didn't love her, per se… that honor belonged to Daisy. Yet, it wasn't hard to feel bad for her.

“Doesn't her husband object?”

“Wilson?” The thought had hardly crossed my mind. “He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He's so… well, dumb, he hardly knows he's alive.”

After we met Myrtle, we began to head up to the charming little apartment I'd gotten for her. We sat in different train cars, sensibly. After she'd changed her dress, we went into town, where she spent money- my money- like she desperately felt the need to rid herself of it. A magazine, perfume, a dog… I didn't mind, of course. But it was a bit much. The seller hadn't even the slightest idea if the dog was a girl or a boy. Once we finally made it up to the apartment, Myrtle wasted no time calling up a great menagerie of friends- her sister Catherine, Chester and Lucielle Mckee… Along with many others.

I grabbed the alcohol from the cabinet- heaven knew we would need it.

Nick left for a while, so I took the time to quickly pound Myrtle into the mattress upstairs. When we returned, our guests had arrived. First Catherine- a slender, more pale version of her sister. Then the Mckees arrived, and Chester seemed to take a liking to Nick. He was a thin, rather feminine man, who proudly informed Nick that was in the “artistic game” as a photographer.

They all began bickering about photography, unfortunately. I let out a tired yawn and stood up, holding my empty drink cup. “You Mckees have something to drink. Please get some more ice and mineral water, Myrtle, before everybody goes to sleep.”

Myrtle grumbled some sort of complaint, but I finally found the will to smile when she left to do as I asked. If only Daisy were that compliant…

“I've done some nice things out on Long Island.” Chester suddenly added. I was stunned by the sudden change in topic. But he continued. “Two of them we have framed downstairs.”

“Two… what?” I asked.

I hardly even know what he began saying to me- I never understood such trivial artistic things. To my knowledge, he was likely discussing a photograph of some sort. My attention was quickly drawn instead to Catherine, who placed herself directly on Nick's lap.

“Do you live down on Long Island, too?” She asked.

“I live in West Egg.” Nick replied softly. I nearly laughed- he was never good with women.

“Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. A man named Gatsby's. Do you know him?”

Hearing the name brought me unease as I remembered Daisy's reaction from the other day. How could it be that everyone seemed to know this ‘Gatsby’ except for me?

“I live right next door to him.” Nick replied.

Chester once again began rambling pointlessly about photos while Nick and Catherine had their chat, and I began to get terribly bored with both. I took a few more drinks, offered a few remarks, and then promptly disappeared into the other room to get some time to myself.

My peace didn't last long.

“Say, Tom,” Myrtle laughed, strutting into the room without knocking. “Tell me again about that time with Daisy? We've all been talking about how you just can't stand her-”

“Don't talk about Daisy.” I snapped back at her, a bit louder than intended. I grabbed a cigarette and lit it, relying solely on the smoke to cool my boiling blood before I did something I'd regret.

“Well, why not?” Myrtle crossed her arms.

“Because I said not to, Myrtle.”

“She’s not that damn special! God knows you hate her. The insufferable little bitch-”

I rose from my chair, cigarette clutched in hand, hissing through my teeth. “Stop.”

“What, is Tommy boy so sensitive about his bitch of a wife that I can't even say her name?” She mocked, as I clutched the chair so hard I feared it would break.

“Stop it!”

“Well, I'll say her name alright!” Myrtle laughed that awful, shrill laugh of hers and ran out of the room, daring me to give chase. “Daisy! Daisy, Daisy-”

“STOP!” I sprinted after her, dropping my cigarette somewhere behind me on the floor. Sometimes she acted like such a child… It was infuriating. Perhaps she did deserve her spineless, idiotic husband.

“I'll say it as many times as I damn please! Daisy, Daisy, DAISY-”

Suddenly, some demon overtook my body. I did love Daisy- I really did. Even if she never tried to love me back, even if she refused to sleep in the same bed as me from day one, I still cared about her. The pure rage and anguish and shame I felt each time Daisy's name fell from that replaceable whore's lips was enough to send my fist flying at her nose.

Myrtle looked up at me like a kicked puppy as blood dripped down her face, choking back tears. Time slowed to an aching crawl. Everyone paused what they were doing to stare in silent horror. I almost felt bad. Until:

“...Daisy.” She whispered, so only I could hear. I remember the ladies fussing, rushing to clean her up… Chester and Nick left for a while, but about 20 minutes later they were back, suspiciously lacking their clothing.

And then the party roared on.

I threw back another five and a half drinks, enough not to care anymore. I'd been doing far too much of that lately, but it worked. It always worked. I suddenly didn't care about Myrtle, or Daisy, or Nick, or hell- even myself. My body became a thing, a currency, a toy, anything other than an actual part of me. And it was offered to everyone in that room. Every single body. That's all they became, just bodies. Bodies with no real sentience.

I slammed the first body I found down on the couch, and the alcohol possessed my movements before my brain could even catch up. I hoped it was Myrtle I had under me, but frankly, I didn't give a shit. I'd just pretend it was Daisy. I saw Nick and Chester's bodies tangled together on the floor together out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't care. Nobody cared. That apartment was so far from civilization, so utterly removed from morals, that a man could have sex with another man in front of his wife and not a single person would bat an eye. Which rang true, as Lucielle seemed too busy with some other random soul to care. I think Nick and Chester made their final escape soon after, if I recall correctly- although I hardly recalled who was underneath me.

I'll admit, things after that were… a bit fuzzy. All I know is that I ended up in a taxi cab with Catherine, my shirt missing and my pants on backwards, halfway home before I entirely fell unconscious and woke up back in my own bed. The strangest thing? I woke up with makeup smeared on my face, and wearing Nick's tie. I was drenched in liquor, I smelled like a cigar shop, and I was sure Daisy would worry about my whereabouts. But luckily, she was more of a fool that next morning than I ever gave her credit for.

“Are you alright, Tom?”

“Fine.” I huffed, sitting up.

“That friend of yours brought you home... she said you and Myrtle were attacked in the street- you poor thing.” Daisy fussed. Something was behind her voice, something distressed and in pain. But if she never brought up what we both knew happened, neither would I.

“...She did? Right.” I sighed. “I need some sleep, Daisy.”

“Sleep well, then. I'll get out of your hair- Jordan and I are going out.” She announced, checking her makeup quickly in the mirror.

“I love you.” I offered.

“Hulking brute.” She mumbled, walking away. It left me to wonder, just for a moment, why she never even tried to love me before I turned away.

Chapter Text

The next week was miserable. Myrtle was still sour with me and refused to speak to me- I can't imagine why. Her nose was already crooked to begin with, and really, she was asking for it. I'd already warned her to stop speaking of Daisy and she just kept going… she might as well have broken her nose herself.

Besides the momentary absence of Myrtle, however, life seemed to return mostly to normal. I found myself quite lonesome, but then again, when wasn't I? Daisy was distant and cold as ever, and Jordan had been slowing her visits to the house, so not even the slightest bit of chatter echoed through it. I nearly missed her. Daisy laughed about the absence of her friend and remarked that she must be with Nick, which I doubted. After what I'd seen Nick and Chester doing, I doubted he'd ever make love like that to any woman, let alone Jordan. But of course, I couldn't tell Daisy that. Telling her would involve admitting to what I did.

It was after one particularly long phone call with Daisy that Nick revealed to us both the truth- he'd been going out every weekend to parties. I never quite pegged him as the type for it, but apparently Jordan went as well, so of course Daisy was excited.

“They're together, Tom- I'm telling you.” Daisy would laugh. “I know it- I'll bet they're going to get married someday.”

“I… doubt it.”

“Why? Is Nick dating another girl already?” She asked.

“Not… exactly? It's- I just don't ever see it working out, is all.” I shrugged.

“You always say that… I'll bet you don't see the world working out, Tom. Let alone anything in it.” She sighed.

“Maybe some things would if the people actually tried.” I snapped. “I'm going riding.”

“I hope you fall off the horse.” Daisy smirked, walking away.

“So do I, Daisy.” I mumbled, running my hands through my hair. “So do I.”

I let myself wander passively down to our grand stables, located just on the edge of the property, although my heart wasn't fully in it. Not even the horses were able to help my mood much, unfortunately.

I saddled my favorite mare, a mustang named destructrice. She was getting a bit old- but then again, so was I. Come to think of it, I hadn't quite noticed it, but I hadn't felt young or carefree in quite a long time. I never quite felt like an older man, with how little I played a role in Pammy's life, but I certainly wasn’t youthful anymore.

Without a second thought, I mounted my horse, and the two of us ran off to the far edge of the property. I didn't care where we went as long as we went somewhere, and as long as I wasn't making the trip alone. I must have been out there for a good few hours, just going back and forth, trying to feel something. It didn't work.

When I went back inside, I found Daisy eating dinner without me. I didn't even try to talk to her- I knew she'd just give some excuse about not wanting to go get me. So I just went upstairs, and I collapsed on my- no, our bed. It was supposed to be ours, anyways. It seemed less and less like that was the case every day.

Chapter Text

“Tom? Who's Tom?”

I never meant to pry, really. I was just going up to our room to get something, and that room happened to be connected to the one Daisy was in. She was just talking so loudly… It was only a coincidence that I heard.

After she emerged from the other room, I couldn't help being angry. Who wouldn't be?

“Who was that on the phone?!” I demanded.

“Just Nick, Tom. He invited me to tea.” Daisy responded tiredly, moving past me.

“Why- Why’d you pretend not to know me, then?!”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“DAISY!” I grabbed her arm, but she turned her head. I groaned in frustration. “Look at me, goddamnit.”

“How can I?” She nearly whispered.

“Where are you really going?”

“I told you. I'm going to see Nick for tea.”

“Why can't I come?”

“Is it too much to ask that I get to see my cousin alone?!” Daisy cried, ripping her arm out of my grasp.

“...Go.” I scoffed. “Have fun.”

“I will.” She pouted, rubbing your arm. “You hulking brute- that might bruise.”

“Would you stop calling me that?! It'll only bruise because you were moving while I was holding it.”

“It's your fault for even holding it!”

“JUST GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE!” I screamed. “If even being around me bothers you that much, go to Nick's. Have fun.”

“I told you, I will.”

Chapter Text

Daisy went to tea, and she didn't return until late. At least, she told me she went to tea. I didn't believe her. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair was messed up, and her makeup was smudged and hastily redone. She looked awful... but the most awful thing was the smile on her face. How dare she smile, after what she'd left me to? She spent several extra hours out, and I was inclined to worry!

I remember the time she was gone. I'd spent hours pacing around the empty house, watching the servants replace the wilting flowers in the vases on the windowsills. I finally hired someone to fix up that wretched, unsightly garden on the side of the house, and I sat on the porch to watch him work. After a few hours, the place looked worse than it started, but he assured me he'd come back the next day.

I went down to the stables for a bit as well, but it didn't cheer me up as it once had. One of my mares had a foal- I named it Daisy at first, before switching the name to Rose. I didn't believe Daisy would appreciate the homage, especially with how distant she was growing.

After a while, I just gave up and got myself drunk. I don't know why I even tried to avoid it in the first place. I had a full bottle of... God, I don't even remember what it was. All I know is that I certainly didn't care anymore after I drank it.

When Daisy got back, she looked awful, as I said- she found me equally as destroyed, sprawled on the couch with a miserable expression and the demeanor of a kicked puppy. When I begged to know why she was out so long, she merely danced around the subject, as we'd both grown to be experts at.

She insisted she'd only gone to see Nick, but from the looks of it, she went to some sort of party at Nick's house. I began to wonder if perhaps the lifestyle of West Egg was getting to the poor man, but then I found my answer.

She began disappearing more and more often, always to Nick's house, always returning in the same disheveled state, if not a worse one. In Daisy's purse one day after she returned, I found a cloth handkerchief. It was wonderful quality- clearly expensive imported fabric, and wonderfully embroidered. It was a ridiculously fancy handkerchief. A handkerchief that had “Gatsby” embroidered in the corner. Suddenly, it all made sense- she wasn't going to see Nick at all. She was going to see his neighbor.

What kind of man must Gatsby be, to do something like that to an obviously married woman? Let alone a woman as fragile as Daisy. Why, he surely must have swayed her fragile little mind… poor Daisy, she had no idea what this “Gatsby” figure was trying to do to her. And to think Nick was just letting it happen! Perhaps I misjudged him, back in college. He was no good man- perhaps a stupid one, but certainly not a good one.

After that, I began paying more attention to the papers. His name would always show up at least once, if not more. Parties every weekend, with drinks and food, completely for free. Wild rumors: that he was related to several big political names, that he was a German spy, that he killed a man… I did my own research many of the long nights Daisy was gone. I even paid someone to look into his affairs. He was one of Meyer Wolfsheim's goons, and he was opening drugstores, selling bootleg booze. That wasn't even to mention the little bond stunt he and Wolfsheim were pulling! He was a dirty criminal of the worst kind, a new money fool who took advantage of the ban on alcohol. I hadn't found out the exact details at that time, and it would take another few weeks for me to get real evidence. But hearsay was enough for the time. It was awful- the more I read, the less I wanted Daisy around him. But heaven knows I couldn't stop her if I tried. She was feisty for a woman, she always was- if you refused to give into her demands, you'd probably be getting hurt one way or another.

Still, I tried.

“Daisy, darling?” I asked one of the many times she vanished.

“We both know you don't mean that, Tom. Don't bother.” She rolled her eyes, grabbing her purse.

“Daisy, look. I really don't want you going over there. I read up on Nick's neighbor-”

“We never even see his neighbor, Tom. You worry too much.” Daisy scoffed.

“Then why do you have his handkerchief?”

“...What?” Daisy looked like a deer in headlights. I shook my head.

“You had his handkerchief.”

“Oh, that? Nick let me borrow it to fix my makeup. He must have got it from one of those parties.” Daisy shrugged. “I assure you, I've never met Mr. Gatsby, and I don't plan on it.”

“But-” I shook my head with a sigh. “...If you say so.” I sighed. “Have fun, Daisy.”

“I always do.” She smiled. She began to walk out, but I stopped her.

“Daisy?”

“Yes?” She asked, turning to me.

“Do you think we could maybe just spend some time together tonight?” It was a silly question, but I missed the woman I married. She seemed to want nothing to do with me anymore.

“I'm not sure. I don't think I'll be back until late.” She replied quickly, rushing out the door.

“Okay! I- love… you.” I said to nothing.

Chapter Text

I can't believe I lent myself to the lie for so long, turning a blind eye to Daisy's obvious affair. I must have been getting weak… or maybe just desperate. That I can almost forgive. What I can’t forgive is the fact that I attended one of that dirty criminal’s parties.

Yes, I went down to his house on horseback one Sunday night, because Mr. Sloane- a friend I was riding with- decided we should stop for drinks. Mr. Gatsby greeted us warmly, perhaps a bit too warmly. He kept offering things, over and over, until Sloane began to get annoyed and said that he wanted “nothing at all, thank you” to make Gatsby back off.

He then greeted me.

“I believe we've met somewhere before, Mr. Buchanan.”

I had no idea where the hell I'd met him. I don't think I had. But I wasn't about to look foolish in front of him. He had this smile- this intimidating, overly friendly smile that makes you feel horrible if you're the reason it vanishes.

“Oh… yes.” I lied. “So we did. I remember very well.”

“About two weeks ago.” He continued. I still had no damn idea. But Nick was nodding, so I assumed he was likely there when I supposedly met Mr. Gatsby.

“That's… Right. You were with Nick there.” I'm quite a good liar- Mr. Gatsby seemed to just accept this.

“I know your wife.” He said suddenly. I'm sure I went pale, because Nick gave me a panicked glance.

I fucking knew it!

“That so?”

I turned to Nick, a bit crazed. “You live near here, Nick?”

“Next door.” He responded quietly.

“That so?!”

I would have ripped Gatsby and Nick both to shreds right then and there, in front of half the tri-state area, if Sloane's woman friend (I forget her name) hadn't interrupted me.

“We'll all come over to your next party, Mr. Gatsby. What do you say?”

I turned to stare at her. I hadn't agreed to that. I never intended to set foot in this house again if it wasn't to murder the owner- in fact, I wanted to leave just then.

“Certainly… I'd be delighted to have you.” Gatsby smiled, with a sideways glance at me.

No.

No.

I nudged Sloane, who seemed to get the message. “Be ver’ nice… Well- think I ought to be starting home.”

“Please don't hurry.” Gatsby snapped urgently, as if he knew I wanted desperately to leave. He gave me another friendly smile. “Why don't you- why don't you stay for supper?! I wouldn't be surprised if some other people dropped in from New York.”

“You come to supper with me.” Sloane's lady friend suddenly insisted, with a gesture to Nick and Gatsby. “Both of you.”

I gave Sloane a panicked glance and he stood. “Come along,” he whispered to the woman.

“I mean it. I'd love to have you. Lots of room.” She continued, clearly missing the hint.

“I'm afraid I won't be able to.” Nick declined politely.

“Well, you come!” She told Gatsby. Rolling his eyes, Sloane leaned up to her ear, and I just barely caught his words.

“Tom wants to leave. We have to go, let’s not deliver him home late.” He whispered.

“We won't be late if we start now!” She insisted.

“I haven't got a horse.” Gatsby shrugged, looking quite nervous.

I hardly heard the rest of what he said, over the relief that rushed through me. He couldn't come- thank God. He offered to follow us in his car, but he took far too long, so we left quickly without him.

I slept well that night next to Daisy, letting it play over and over in my head, smug that I still had at least one thing that Gatsby didn't.

I would have been content to never attend one of his awful parties again… but the next Saturday, when Daisy said she was going to a party, I knew.

I knew it was him.

So, for once, I insisted on following her. She didn't seem happy about it at first, but soon, we were at Gatsby's door together.

“These things excite me so!” Daisy smiled, going to chat under her breath with Nick. I hated that I couldn't quite hear.

Gatsby nudged me, putting a hand on Daisy's arm. “You must see the faces of many people you've heard about.”

I fought back the urge to scream that I’ve certainly heard about what he's doing to Daisy… But I bit my tongue.

“We don't go around very much,” I told him instead. “In fact, I was just thinking I don't know a soul here.”

“Perhaps you know that lady.” Gatsby gestured towards some random woman.

“She's lovely.” Said Daisy. It made my blood boil.

“The man bending over her is her director.”

Gatsby decided that the best thing to do for our lack of knowledge regarding the attendees was to drag us around, introducing us to them. So that he did, and I was forced to go along with it. He seemed to have a particular malice for me- his smile always seemed more forced every time he mentioned my name, his eye twitching slightly.

“Mrs. Buchanan… and Mr. Buchanan-” he gave me that smile, that awful smile. “The polo player.”

Oh, hell no.

“Oh, no.” I objected through clenched teeth, giving Mr. Gatsby a sideways glance. “No… not me.”

Gatsby never wavered. He just nodded and insisted once more that I was the “polo player” purely to annoy me. That's all he ever did, the only driving force behind his actions- to annoy me. Why else would he be after Daisy? He clearly didn't love her, nor did he think he had a chance with her... respectable, rich girls don't marry his kind.

“I'd a little rather not be the polo player.” I grumbled, after perhaps the hundreth time I was forced to hear it. “I'd rather look at all these famous people in- in oblivion.”

After that I lost sight of Gatsby, and with him vanished Daisy. It took until dinner to see the two of them again, giggling like idiots. They made fun of me- it hurt that Gatsby managed to drag Daisy into it. What kind of man forces another man's wife to turn on him? Especially Daisy.. she couldn't hurt a fly. Gatsby was certainly manipulating her. Supper came and went with a few drinks involved, and it wasn't soon after that Daisy left me again, probably to go make out with Gatsby in some dark hallway.

I got drunk- I'm sure it wasn’t difficult. There were trays of drinks everywhere you turned, servants pouring cocktails, and several bars set up around the building. My memory of the night after that is hazy, horribly strung together, up to when I somehow found myself on the front steps with what I assumed was just Nick.

“Who is this Gatsby, anyhow?” I asked him. “Some big bootlegger?”

“Where'd you hear that?” Nick responded.

“I didn't hear it… I Imagined it. All those newly rich people are just big bootleggers, you know.”

“Not Gatsby.” Nick said quietly. There was something in his voice… Something that seemed to pain him. Something…

Oh, god.

Even in my hazy state, staring down at the pebbles in the driveway, I knew. I could tell that Gatsby had dragged Nick in, luring him like a siren, only to use him for Daisy. It all made sense.

Nick was in love with Gatsby, and he was head over heels.

How awful... not to mention sinful. How did Gatsby manage to drag such a good man like Nick down to such a level?

I never brought it up- why would I? It was so awkward, so strange to suggest… But I knew it. I think we both did.

“Well, he certainly must have strained himself to get this menagerie together.” I sighed.

Daisy, who I hardly noticed was even there, tapped my arm. It gave me a real scare- For some reason, I assumed I was alone with Nick.

“At least they're more interesting than the people we know.” She mumbled.

“You didn't look so interested.” I responded, taking her hand.

“Well, I was.” She continued firmly. I couldn't help but laugh.

“Did you notice Daisy's face when that girl asked to put her under a cold shower?” I asked Nick.

Then, Daisy began singing. I always loved her singing voice- bobbed up and down like a boat on the water, circling magically, light and beautiful like a jingling bell, or a flute. It was a siren’s song, a lullaby fit for a king. She sang along to the music, and all I could think of as her lips moved is how much more Daisy deserved to be a singer than whatever fool wrote the song.

Our car pulled up eventually, and Daisy kept softly singing, in the most gorgeous way. God, I was lucky she was mine.

Gently, I rested my head on her shoulder. I can't remember how she reacted- but she certainly never tried to move me. She just continued to sing. As we drove off, I let her majestic song pull me under, and the last thing I saw before my eyes fell closed was the string of pearls I bought for her around her neck.

Chapter Text

“I'm terribly bored, Tom. Let's have a party.” Daisy sighed one evening, just before the hottest day of the summer. “The heat is just dreadful.”

“Parties are for animals, Daisy…” I replied tiredly.

“Could I at least invite some friends over tomorrow? Oh, please?” She pleaded. One look in her eyes told me all I needed to know- Gatsby was going to be part of the group, whether I liked it or not.

“...Fine.”

Against my will, the next day came, and Daisy invited her little circus to come entertain her at the house. They arrived while I was on the phone, thank God- I don't believe I could have looked that Gatsby fellow in the eyes and welcomed him into my home.

I walked in to greet him, but Daisy instantly ordered that I leave to make her a drink. I was in no place to deny the decree of a princess, even if she wasn't the least bit loyal to her kingdom. So I left. I left to make her a drink, and when I returned, I could tell something had happened. Gatsby had just the slightest stain of lipstick on the corner of his mouth, and Daisy was huddled in her seat, the way she always was when she knew she was doing something bad.

I had to get him out of that room.

“Come outside.” I suggested quickly, grabbing Gatsby's arm and forcing him up. “I'd like you to have a look at the place.”

I dragged him out to the veranda, with Nick trailing behind like a lost puppy. The poor man… Gatsby was probably his guiding light.

“I'm right across from you.” Gatsby told me, pointing directly across the bay. He had that smile again, with a hint of smugness- he was proud of himself for destroying my family.

“So you are.” I turned to glare at him, but his confidence never wavered. A well-rehearsed act, a parlor trick… meant to earn the trust of the first vulnerable woman (or man, apparently) he set his sights on.

Eventually I dragged him back inside, unable to look at his house across the bay any longer. It was so large, so obvious… So real, and so permanent. An unsightly testament to his destruction of my family, of my life. Sitting proudly there across the bay, like a mighty castle.

The luncheon was hot and miserable, and we all drank far more than I believe we planned to. Eventually, Daisy began complaining, as she always did.

“What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” She cried. “And the day after that, and the next thirty years?”

“Don't be morbid.” Jordan scoffed. “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

“But it's so hot,” Daisy whined, on the verge of tears. It made something in my chest ache to see her in such distress. “And everything's so confused. Let's all go to town!”

Gatsby seemed to like this idea. I panicked, reasonably, and tried to drag him back into a discussion.

“You know, I've heard of a man making a garage out of a stable,” I told him. “But I'm the first man who ever made a stable out of a garage.”

“Who wants to go to town?!” Daisy insisted again. Her gaze lingered on Gatsby. “Ah… you look so cool… you always look so cool.”

No.

Hell no.

She'd admitted she loves him… In front of me. My poor Daisy… Gatsby clearly messed with her head more than I thought he did.

Daisy gave me a panicked glance and began trying to save herself, but I cut in, trying my best not to spring on Gatsby like a rabid animal and tear his throat open.

“All right. I'm perfectly willing to go to town! Let's all go to town.” I yelled. “Come on- we're all going to town.”

No one moved.

“COME ON!” I was ready to kill someone. My mind lingered to the hunting rifles I kept in the dining room- or perhaps the knives in the kitchen. Anything to free my poor, sweet Daisy from that monster’s grip. “What's the matter, anyhow? If we’re going to town, let's start.”

“Are we just going to go?!” Daisy objected. “Like this? Aren't we going to let anyone smoke a cigarette first?”

“Everybody smoked all through lunch.”

“Oh, let's have fun.” She begged me. “It’s too hot to fuss.”

I didn't answer. I couldn't make myself.

“Have it your own way.” she sighed defeatedly, retreating upstairs to get ready. “Come on, Jordan.”

Jordan gave Nick an apologetic look and dragged herself upstairs behind Daisy, leaving me alone with Nick and Gatsby. I saw Nick move slightly closer to Gatsby, and it made me see even more red.

Was he really so determined to take both my family and my friends away from me?

“Have you got your stables here?” Gatsby asked suddenly.

“About a quarter of a mile down the road.” I told him.

“Oh.” Gatsby paused.

“I don't see the idea of going to town.” I grumbled. “Women get these notions in their heads-”

“Shall we take anything to drink?” Daisy called down to me.

“I'll get some whiskey.” I replied.

Gatsby and Nick began whispering, as if they harbored some grand secret. Lord knows they did.

And so we left the house, with me carrying the Whiskey (wrapped in a towel for obvious reasons) to the cars.

“Shall we go in my car?” Gatsby suggested. He felt the leather and smiled at me. “I ought to have left it in the shade.”

“Is it standard shift?” I demanded of him.

“Yes.”

“Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town.” I told him, crossing my arms. He didn't seem pleased.

“I don't think there's much gas-”

“There's plenty of gas!” I cut him off. “And if it runs out I can stop at a drugstore. You can buy anything at a drugstore nowadays.”

Daisy frowned at me, moving slightly closer to Gatsby. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her right along with me.

“Come on, Daisy. I'll take you in this circus wagon.” I said quickly, shoving her towards the car. Much to my horror, Daisy stepped away from me.

“You take Nick and Jordan. We'll follow you in the coupé.” She told me, moving back to Gatsby.

I didn't bother responding. I just got into Gatsby's car, silently worked the unfamiliar gears, and shot off into the road.

“Did you see that?!” I demanded once we'd left.

“S-See what?” Nick stuttered.

I turned to glare at him- that bitch! He knew all along! “You think I'm pretty dumb, don't you?”

I saw red for nearly the rest of the drive, up until we stopped for gas. George looked awful- I had to ask.

“What's the matter?”

“I'm all run down.” He told me. His face was nearly green in the sunlight, even though he sounded well enough on the phone.

He needed money, he told me, so he was working overtime. That's why he wanted so badly to buy the car from me.

“What do you want money for, all of a sudden?” I asked.

“I've been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go west.”

I nearly froze. My blood ran cold, my face pale.

…Myrtle?

“Your wife?!” I exclaimed.

“She's been talking about it for ten years.” George laughed. “And now she's going whether she wants to or not! I'm going to get her away.”

Before I could reach over and snap his neck for trying to drag Myrtle away, Gatsby raced by us in my car, and my panic grew. I felt physically sick. Everything was running through my fingers like water, slipping out of my grasp.

I was helpless.

“How much do I owe you?!” I asked him.

“A dollar twenty.”

“I'll let you have that car.” I told him quickly. “I'll send it over tomorrow afternoon.”

Before I could register anything, just like that, I was gone. I was halfway down the road, NY foot jammed on the accelerator, with no thoughts in my mind but overtaking Gatsby and leaving George in the dust.

I hardly remember the rest of what happened. All I can remember is the horrid racing of my heart as we pulled up alongside Daisy, and we all made the journey upstairs to the parlor of a suite in the Plaza Hotel.

The room was vast and grand, still hot but less so than the house was. Of course, Daisy could do nothing but complain.

“Open another window.” She commanded.

“There aren't any more.”

“Well, we'd better telephone for an axe-”

I suddenly cut her off, with a firmness that scared even me. “The thing to do is forget about the heat. You'll make it ten times worse by crabbing about it.”

“Why not let her alone, Old Sport?” Gatsby demanded as I began to take out the alcohol. “You're the one that wanted to come to town.”

The telephone book crashed to the floor before I could reply. The silence was deafening.

“I'll get it-” Nick offered. But Gatsby had his own plans.

“I've got it.” He smiled, making a show of picking it up and tossing it aside.

“That's a great expression of yours, isn't it?” I asked him.

“What is?”

“All this ‘Old Sport’ business. Where’d you pick that up?” I asked innocently.

“Now, see here, Tom.” Daisy interrupted. “If you're going to make personal remarks, I won't stay here a minute. Call up and order some ice for the mint julep.”

I very begrudgingly picked up the phone to do as she asked, annoyed that the conversation seemed to drag on without me. They went off about someone’s wedding, somehow. I only know that Jordan interrupted my call to ask me about it.

“Remember Biloxi… Where'd you know him, Tom?”

“Biloxi?” I racked my brain, but hardly remembered. “I didn't know him. He was a friend of Daisy's.”

“He was not!” Daisy denied. “I'd never seen him before. He came down in the private car.”

“Well, he said he knew you. Said he was raised in Louisville. Asa Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room for him.”

“He was probably bumming his way home.” Jordan laughed. “He told me he was president of your class at Yale.”

I turned to blankly stare at Nick, as I never remembered our class having a president at all.

“Biloxi?” He asked.

“First place, we didn't have any president-” I began. But one look at Mister Gatsby drew me back to what I wanted to ask him.

“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you're an Oxford man.”

“Not exactly.” He looked down.

“Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford.” I continued to push.

“Yes- I went there.”

“You must have gone there around the time Biloxi went to New Haven.”

A long pause gripped the room. The waiter came in with the crushed mint and ice, but hardly said anything before scurrying away.

“I told you I went there.” Gatsby said quietly.

“I heard you, but I'd like to know when.”

“It was in 1919. I only stayed five months… That's why I can't really call myself an Oxford man.”

I smiled nearly without my own control. I'd won. I'd actually won.

“It was an opportunity they gave to some of the officers after the armistice.” He continued, and my smile faded. “We could go to any of the universities in England or France.”

Nick looked up at Gatsby with admiration, which just served to annoy me more. I hardly heard Daisy pleading with me to open the alcohol.

“Wait a minute.” I snapped, gripped by anger. “I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more question.”

“Go on.” He smiled calmly. That damn smile.

“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?”

“He isn't causing a row!” Daisy snapped. “You're causing a row. Please have a little self-control.”

“Self-control!” I laughed. “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. NOBODY from NOWHEREville make love to your wife. Well, if that's the idea, you can count me out… nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions-”

“I've got something to tell you, Old Sport.” Gatsby started again, standing up with excited rage in his eyes.

“Please don't! Please, let's all go home! Why don't we all go home?” Daisy pleaded. She looked like she wanted to flee, and she was staring at Gatsby like she was afraid he'd strike her. She clearly wanted to be in my arms, I could tell. Where I could protect her from criminals like Gatsby.

“That's a good idea!” Nick announced, standing up. “Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink-”

“I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me.” I remained firm.

“Your wife doesn't love you. She's never loved you. She loves me.” Gatsby said with pride. Such foolish, fake pride. It was as if he'd just confidently announced that the sky was green. How could someone be so stupid?

His pride was, perhaps, more fake than his entire identity.

Oh, yes. I neglected to mention it, but Jay Gatsby wasn't that crook's real name. He was never born rich. He was James Gatz, the son of some dirt poor farmers.

What made him think he was good enough for someone like Daisy?

And what nonsense! Daisy, never loving me? Why- she loved me! She loved me on our wedding day. She loved me enough to make Pammy, clearly. She loved me all those times I held her, and buried my face in her hair… she loved me more than that criminal would ever understand.

How dare he?

“You must be crazy!” I yelled, glancing sideways at Daisy, who was cowering behind Nick. I wanted to hug her, to tell her it was alright. I stepped forward to do just that, but Gatsby excitedly blocked my path, as if he took glee in ruining both my life and Daisy's.

“She never loved you, do you hear?!” He screamed with such horrible, triumphant glee that it made my blood boil. “She only married you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me! It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved anyone except me!”

“Sit down, Daisy.” I turned to her gently. “What's been going on? I want to hear all about it.”

“I told you what's been going on!” Gatsby interrupted. “Going on for five years- and you didn't know.”

Five years?

I turned back to Daisy. “You've been seeing this fellow for five years?”

Once again, Gatsby took it upon himself to speak for her. “Not seeing… No, we couldn't meet. But both of us loved each other all that time, Old Sport, and you didn't know. It makes me laugh sometimes to think you didn't know.” He cackled.

“Oh- that's all?” I gave Gatsby a sideways glance. How demented must he be? “YOU'RE CRAZY!” I laughed louder than him, louder than he ever could. “I can't speak about what happened five years ago, because I didn't know Daisy then- and I'll be damned if you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries to the back door. But all the rest of that's a god damned lie. Daisy loved me when she married me, and she loves me now.”

“No.”

“She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish ideas in her head and doesn't know what she's doing.” I took Daisy's hand. “And what's more, I love Daisy too! Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time.”

“You're…” Daisy glanced at Gatsby and then back to me. “...revolting.”

She didn't mean it. I could tell.

“Daisy, it's all over now.” Gatsby told her, strolling over to take her from me. “It doesn't matter any more. Just tell him the truth- that you never loved him- and it's all wiped out forever.”

“Why- how could I love him, possibly?!”

“You never loved him.”

Daisy hesitated, glancing around the room with clear regret. She didn't want this, of course she didn't. Why would she? She was finally realizing how manipulated she was, I’ll bet.

“I… never loved him.” She sobbed.

“Not at Kapiolani?” I asked softly.

“...No.”

“Not that day I carried you down from the punch bowl to keep your shoes dry?” My voice cracked, as if I were about to cry. It felt as though I'd been stabbed through the chest and I was dying in Daisy's arms. “Daisy…”

“Please don't.” She sobbed. She turned to Gatsby. “Oh, Gatsby! You want too much! I'm with you now, isn’t that enough?!”

“I want to speak to Daisy alone!” Gatsby demanded.

“Even alone, I can't say I never loved Tom! It wouldn't be true!” She cried.

“Of course it wouldn't…” I whispered, taking her into my arms.

“I'm leaving you.” She mumbled brokenly into my chest.

“No, you aren't. Certainly not for a common swindler who'd have to steal the ring he puts on your finger.”

“Oh, I can't stand this! Please, let's get out…”

“Who are you, anyhow?!” I yelled to Gatsby. “You're one of the bunch that hangs around with Meyer Wolfsheim- that much I happen to know. I've made a little investigation into your affairs! I'll carry it even further tomorrow.”

“You can suit yourself about that, Old Sport.”

“I found out what his drugstores were! He and this Wolfsheim brought up a lot of side-street drugstores, and sold grain alcohol over the counter! That's one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger and I wasn't far wrong.”

“Now, Old Sport-”

“DON'T YOU CALL ME OLD SPORT!” I snapped.

Gatsby stared at me with the intensity of a stalking predator, his face red with rage. He really looked like he killed a man… I wish I'd seen it sooner.

He tried to take Daisy aside, to drag her home with him, but Daisy cried out for me.

“Please, Tom! Let's go home! I can't stand this anymore!”

“You two start on home, Daisy.” I sighed. “In Mr. Gatsby's car.”

Chapter Text

It wasn't long after they left that Nick, Jordan, and I piled into my coupé and started home after them. It was my idea for them to leave together, but the more I thought, the more I hated the idea of my sweet Daisy alone with that monster.

As we drove in pure silence, I saw in the distance that three or four cars were stationed in the middle of the road.

“Wreck!” I laughed. “That's good. George Wilson'll finally get some business.”

I slowed down, planning to just cruise on by. But the horrified looks as I drew closer and the panicked yelling made me slam on the brakes, getting out of the car as quickly as I could to see what was wrong. I could hear George’s voice wailing from the garage. It was broken, mournful wailing- the kind that made your heart race and made a cold chill creep up your spine.

“...There's some bad trouble here.”

I stood on my tiptoes to see- I never was tall. That's when I saw a single, blood-caked red curl and I knew.

I just knew.

Something overtook me. Some wild animal. I shoved my way frantically through the crowd and just sat there, bending over the body, motionless.

Myrtle Wilson was dead.

Her eyes were open in abject horror- nobody had bothered to close them. Her left breast was hanging loose like a door on a broken hinge, her makeup was smeared, and her mouth was torn at the corners. She was so, so beautiful once… But the life that gave her part of that beauty was gone, and the rest of it was caked in blood and lying in the road.

I could feel tears stinging at my eyes, my body going hot and cold all at once, and I felt the great sensation of wanting to kill something, to steal the life of whoever stole hers. How could anyone…?

After George let out another scream my head snapped up. My vision was blurred with tears and tunneling in at the edges, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't take in a single breath, just like Myrtle. My head spun, and I became aware that I was shaking like a leaf.

“Listen to me!” I begged someone, anyone. I turned to the man next to me, who was talking to a policeman, and clutched his shoulder in my hand. “What happened?! That's what I want to know.”

“Auto hit her. Instantly killed.” He shrugged.

“She ran out in the road,” another man chimed in. “Sonuvabitch didn't even stop his car.”

“There was two cars,” said another. “One coming, one going, see?”

“Going where?” Asked the officer.

“One going each way. We'll, she-” he gestured to Myrtle’s body. “she ran out there and the one coming from New York knocked right into her, going thirty or forty miles per hour.”

“What's the name of this place, here?” The officer demanded.

“Hasn't got any name.”

Suddenly, a man stepped forward on my right, giving me a sorry look. “It was a yellow car. Big yellow car. New.”

“See the accident?”

“No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster than forty. Going fifty, sixty.”

The officer kept talking, but I couldn't hear him. I couldn't hear anything, not over the tortured mantra of my thoughts, repeating that wretched name… the name I knew was responsible.

Gatsby.

Gatsby had a yellow car.

George’s cries were the thing to break me out of my trance, as he came running and screaming.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME WHAT KIND OF CAR IT WAS! I KNOW WHAT KIND OF CAR IT WAS!”

I froze for a moment before regaining my senses. I sprinted to him, seizing him firmly by the arms and shifting to hold him gently.

“You've got to pull yourself together.” I told him. “Listen, I just got here a minute ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupé we've been talking about. That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn't mine- do you hear? I haven't seen it all afternoon.”

The policeman turned angrily to me. “What's all that?”

“I'm a friend of his.” I snapped. “He says he knows the car that did it… it was a yellow car.”

“And what color’s your car?”

“It's a blue car, a coupé.”

“We've come straight from New York.” Nick took over for me. Someone else confirmed this, and the officer left us be.

I scooped George up very gently, as if he were a doll, set him down in a chair in his office, and gently wiped a few of his tears.

“Who owns the car?” He asked, his voice a broken whisper.

“A fella named Gatsby.” I told him.

“Something outta be done about him.”

“Yeah…” I gave him a tight hug for a few moments before walking out.

“If somebody’ll come here and sit with him-” I glared at two men, who rushed into the office. I then turned to Nick and Jordan frantically, fighting tears. “Let's go.”

We all got back into the car and sped off into the night, and once we were gone, my mouth unwillingly dragged itself down into a frown that I couldn't help. My body began shaking as I clutched the wheel, and tears began falling down my face without my permission. As I let out several low sobs, Nick gently put his hand on my arm, although it didn't help.

“That god damned coward!” I whimpered. “He didn't even stop his car.”

My home appeared out of the trees soon enough, and I was more than happy to be there. I parked the car and rushed out, noting that the upstairs light was on.

“Daisy's home.” I glanced at Nick sorrowfully, and I fought the urge to start crying again. I refused to show him any more than he'd already seen. “I ought to have dropped you in West Egg, Nick. There's nothing we can do tonight. I'll telephone for a taxi to take you home, and while you're waiting you and Jordan better go in the kitchen and have them get you some supper- if you want any.”

“No, thanks,” he declined politely. “But I'd be glad if you'd order me the taxi. I'll wait outside.”

I shrugged and walked into the house, shakily making my way into our kitchen. Daisy was perched at the table, a miserable look on her face.

“Daisy…”

“You know, don't you?” She asked quietly.

“...I know. I saw it on my way back.”

“Oh, Tom, it's awful!” Daisy cried, falling into my arms. “Just awful… is she dead?”

“...Let's get something to eat.” I quickly said, rummaging in the pantry to see what I could find. I frantically grabbed two bottles of ale and a plate of fried chicken from the fridge and set them down, sitting across from Daisy.

“I can't eat now!” She protested.

“It'll make you feel better.”

“Or it'll make me sick.” She sighed. “Oh, Tom… I'm so sorry. I love you, really, I do.”

“I know you do.” I smiled, my hand going to fall over top of hers. “I'm sorry too.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am. That woman you hit, she…” I shook my head. “Nevermind. Look- I’m afraid of losing you, Daisy. This Gatsby, he- he's bad news.”

“I know.” She glanced up at me, tears falling gently from her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Let's go to bed.” I suddenly decided, standing up and pulling her with me.

“Tom-”

“Please?” I whispered.

“...Okay. Come on, you hulking… thing, you.” She sighed, slowly bringing me up to our bedroom. I laid back in bed and she, for once, came up next to me, hugging me to her chest.

“It was awful, Daisy…” My voice shook, and I began to cry again. “The woman… she was-”

“Oh, don't tell me… please.” Daisy pleaded. She gently ran her fingers through my hair as I cried and whimpered, as if she didn't care that I shouldn't be doing it. “It'll be alright.”

That's where I fell asleep, crying in her arms, sobbing like a child. I don't regret it.

Chapter Text

After that, I knew we couldn't stay in East Egg. Someone was dead- no matter whose hands the blood seemed to be on. So mere days after, I packed up the house. We were going to stay in one of my other houses, previously a vacation home.

Gatsby's ghost, his memory, was still lingering, poisoning the house and the mairrage within its walls, and I wouldn't stand for it. My family was distraught when I told them- especially Daisy. She clearly didn't want to leave, but I was firm with it.

"We're going. It's not safe." I told her.

"Safe for who?! You? Come on, Tom, we can't just run away!" She argued back.

"Get in the car." I hissed through my teeth.

“But Tom, I don't want-” She complained.

“YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!” I screamed. Daisy shrunk back, and I froze, suddenly sorry. “...Neither do I. You know we can't stay here, Daisy.”

“I'm sorry.” She whispered.

“It’s okay.” I smiled, pulling her into a hug. Finally, she was in my arms again, and there she'd stay. “I love you. We’ll be alright.”

“I… love you too.”

The phone rang again, and our servant picked it up to take the message- all day it'd been ringing off the hook.

“They aren't home, sir. They've gone,” he told the person on the other end. “No. Goodbye.”

“Who was it?” I asked.

“Mister Carraway. Again.”

“Oh, Tom… it sounds like something is wrong.” Daisy clutched my arm. “What if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s his problem,” I sighed.

“Mommy?” Pammy asked, walking up to Daisy. “Mommy, I don't want to leave.”

Daisy shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. I hugged her head to my chest and answered for her. “We have to, baby.”

“But Daddy, why do we have to leave?”

I turned to look into Pammy's big, innocent eyes, and it felt like a sledgehammer to my heart.

“Because the people here aren't good, Pammy.” I said quietly, with a glance at Daisy. “Go and get in the car.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

As Pammy scampered off, Daisy gently took my arm, looking like a wounded doe.

“Nick must be calling for an emergency… could it be Jay?”

“Who?” I stared at her blankly.

“Mr. Gatsby… his first name was Jay.”

“...Right. I don’t want you using his first name- you two aren’t that close. Understand?”

“Yes.” Daisy whimpered, looking down. “Do you think… Mr. Gatsby… will be alright?”

“He'll get over you.” I scoffed. “He'll be fine.”

If only I knew.

After that, one glorious day in our new home, I learned the truth.

Gatsby was gone.

George, that blasted fool… he shot him. He actually did it. I never told Daisy, and to this day, she never found out. I wouldn't let her. Daisy was like a beautiful rose, preserved in a glass case that I built. I wouldn't allow one more word about Gatsby to shatter that protection, that security. She'd remain in that glass box as long as I told her to, and she'd stay perfect until then.

Gatsby could wait, and he could wait in hell.

He could remain in the past. My family, my life, and my dear Daisy will all accompany me, forever trailing in my shadow, as we brave our way into the future.